Thunderstorms and Sandwiches
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Sherlock's being his usual know-it-all self... or is he? Features thunderstorms, light post-traumatic stress disorder anxiety, a peanut butter sandwich, and discussion of amino acids.


**Thunderstorms and Sandwiches**

John pressed his fingers against his forehead as he descended the stairs quietly. He had a headache. A thunderstorm had started not ten minutes ago and now he couldn't get back to sleep. Trying to sleep during a thunderstorm was wasted effort, although he _had_ tried, and his inability to ignore the thunder rolling as he tried to doze off had given him a headache.

So, now he was quite sure that sleep wouldn't come until after the storm quieted down and he had rolled out of bed, heading for the stairs.

His bare feet on the wood floor made were near-silent, and he hoped that he could avoid waking his flatmate. Sherlock had just wrapped up a particularly brutal week-long case and had finally succumbed to getting some rest.

Due to this, he did not expect anyone to be wandering the flat.

However, when he passed through the hall and into the kitchen, he nearly walked straight in the consulting detective. An accompanying loud clap of thunder made John jump, irrational fear seizing his mind.

"John. Must you sneak around like that?" Sherlock muttered, brushing around John and continuing to the sitting room.

"What are you doing up?" John complained, watching Sherlock's retreating back.

"The thunder woke me, as it did you. Please don't ask any more stupid questions."

"Oh," he replied lamely. "Okay." He fumbled for the light switch, blinking hard when the artificial light flooded the kitchen. "Sorry to bore you with the predictableness of my question, Mr. Grumpy..." he muttered, pulling the fridge open.

Sherlock grunted in reply, and John heard the brush of fabric as Sherlock settled himself down on the couch.

John grabbed the milk and, yawning, poured himself a glass. He rummaged through the drawers, grabbing a knife before pulling the loaf of bread out of the cupboard.

"John, you are being obnoxiously loud."

"Sorry," he replied absently, finding the peanut butter lodged in between a bag of flour and a jar of unidentified liquid. "You won't fall back asleep, anyway. The storm's getting closer, if anything."

"I am aware."

"You always are." He spread a generous amount of the peanut butter onto a piece of bread. He paused at a particularly loud clap of thunder that was followed by lightning illuminating the house for a brief moment.

"I estimate two minutes before the core of the storm is here," Sherlock stated from the sitting room.

"Believable," John replied, spreading peanut butter on another piece of bread before placing the two pieces of bread together. He cut the sandwich down the middle neatly, dropping the knife into the peanut butter jar afterwards. He took a sip of his milk before grabbing another mug, pouring another glass. He grabbed both mugs and the plate before joining Sherlock in the sitting room.

"Here," he said, setting down one of the mugs on the coffee table, following it with the plate. He took half of the peanut butter sandwich for himself before sinking into his own chair, sighing heavily.

"Peanut butter and milk both contain plentiful amounts of the amino acid, tryptophan, which can help aid in stimulating serotonin and melatonin, which are both designed to help relax the mind and body, thus making it easier to sleep..."

"Yes, Sherlock, I know. Which is why I made it, considering it is..." He glanced at the clock. "Two-thirty in the morning."

"Right," Sherlock replied. He swung his legs off the couch and sat up, grabbing the sandwich half off the plate.

John looked at the window, counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. He barely had time to count to five before an almighty clap ensnared their flat, leaving the silence ringing in his ears afterwards with just the faintest echo of what sounded like gunshots to him.

"It's moving rather quickly," Sherlock noted, sounding like he was talking with his mouth full. "It won't last very long."

John didn't know if Sherlock was simply talking to prove that he was paying attention to the storm or if he was somehow trying to reassure him. Either way, he found that he didn't really mind.

"John?"

John looked towards Sherlock again, taking a drink of his milk. "Hm?"

"Bananas also have tryptophan. A peanut butter and banana sandwich would serve the same purpose, if not have a better effect altogether."

John rolled his eyes, smiling in amusement. "I'll try to remember that."

"Good."

John looked to the window, trying to ignore the pounding of the rain against the windows. It was just rain. It was not the footsteps of many soldiers fleeing for safety.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Chocolate also has tryptophan. So does rice."

"Great, Sherlock. Are you trying to tell me to make a chocolate peanut butter banana sandwich with a side of rice or something?"

"Don't be absurd; that sounds disgusting."

"Right."

Another flash of lightning. John started counting. He got a bit further than five this time before the thunder rattled the flat again. Moving away, as Sherlock had said, quite quickly.

"John?"

"What, Sherlock?"

"Do storms bother you?"

John looked away from the window, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he looked at Sherlock. "Not as much as they could, I imagine. Why do you ask?"

"Just planning on how many more foods I'm going to need to list as having tryptophan. Eggs can be a good source of it, as well."

John was still for a moment, watching Sherlock silently. He really was trying to distract him from the storm. John smiled faintly. He wondered when Sherlock had cottoned on about thunderstorms triggering anxiety; it didn't seem like something he would remember on a normal basis. Of course, Sherlock, being Sherlock, had probably realized it all after the very first thunderstorm at 221B Baker Street. It was actually sort of... nice that he still remembered it now.

"Right. I could also make an omelette, I suppose. But that takes a little longer than peanut butter, yeah?"

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "Insignificant details."

John laughed quietly. If anyone had told him, two years ago, that he would be sitting awake at two-thirty in the morning, during a thunderstorm, and talking amino acids with a potentially sociopathic consulting detective, he would have laughed in their face.

Now the thought of anything less eccentric than that bored him.

Thunder rolled nearby, and John looked expectantly towards Sherlock, waiting for the detective to rattle off another article of food containing tryptophan.

* * *

**Pointless random drabble fluff, inspired by our weather, as my 150th fanfic. **

**... I write about peanut butter, but, you know, I still won't eat it. xD**

**Reviews are appreciated! Thank you!**


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